


Second Wind

by ThePunkiest



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-02
Updated: 2016-08-25
Packaged: 2018-05-06 07:33:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 22
Words: 8,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5408306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThePunkiest/pseuds/ThePunkiest
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thirteen years later, Frisk returns to the underground.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: moderately graphic themes ahead. Mentions death of small children. Buy me a coffee? It would be much appreciated. http://ko-fi.com/A2522WO

Your back hurt.

Slowly, you blinked, eyelids weighed down by the ever-beckoning powers of the sandman. Your head was turned sideways, away from the harsh light pouring over your body. You quickly jammed your eyes shut, nuzzling into the soft surface that broke your fall. A delicate scent surrounded you, and if you were fully awake and not bogged down by a possible concussion, you would have realized they were bright yellow Buttercups.

But you didn't.

As you let your eyes adjust to the bright light washing over you, you desperately tried to organize your thoughts: where were you? Did you stumble and hit your head somewhere? What happened? Gently, you rolled your head to face the light full on, and opened your eyes cautiously. Above you, a great chasm loomed, miles and miles high, bright sunlight streaming down onto your bruised face, warming it. But... Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong. A slow dread began to pick at your stomach and a sickening sense of deja vu violently overcame you, nearly making you clench up and wretch.

This never happened:

When you came out of the underground, your parents were distraught. They found you, beaten, badly bruised, and bleeding at the base of Mt. Ebott, the terrifying mountain where children were known to disappear. When they finally had you in their arms in a hospital, stitched up, clean, _safe,_ the rambling started. The horrifying stories of fish women with spears and skeletons with blue bones and goat men with blood-red tridents. Tales of a deadly flower with bullets, and ropes, and vines, that held down their precious child's friends and _tortured them._ The stories you spoke of so fervently made your mother physically ill; made your father weep for your loss of innocence. They had decided to help you, after that.

And they did.

The first time you remember going to your therapist, you had dug your heels in the dark brown dirt and refused to budge. The air was stale from a recent rainfall and your shirt was grimy from playing in the mud underneath your mother's nose. You remember your parents grabbing your hands and dragging you to Dr. Fox, a physically meek man with bright eyes. Your parents had made you sit down on the couch and speak to Dr. Fox.

So you did.

You told him of all your wild adventures: with Sans the skeleton, who had threatened to kill you while he bought you dinner, of Undyne the fish beast who threw spears at you and then made you tea. And of the goat people who had tried to adopt you... and then try to violently murder you.

Dr. Fox had then asked you about "Flowey". And you smiled.

You explained that Flowey wasn't really bad, he just didn't have a soul. He didn't really mean to hurt all of your friends; in fact, he let you go when he had taken the souls of the "other kids", and broke the barrier just enough for you to inch out.

Dr. Fox wrote you a prescription for a medication that would make you feel better. Then he told your parents to keep coming to see him every Monday, Wednesday, Friday, and Sunday. And so they did. For the next thirteen years, you talked with Dr. Fox; about your emotions, your memories (which were now blurred with time), the horrible monsters that had taken the place of the people who had kidnapped you and tortured you, along with six other helpless children (in his own words). And as you grew, your memories of your wonderland worsened. The underground did _not_ exist. The "Underground" was the kidnapper's HQ; the friendly characters you knew and loved warped and distorted themselves into nightmarish monsters who hurt you.

This is what actually happened:

Police had rescued you. Rescued _you,_ not the six other children. Because the other children were _dead_ , chests torn apart into pulpy masses with their hearts torn from their tiny, lifeless bodies. You returned to your parents, shrieking and crying, spewing stories of awful monsters that killed the other children. You made up the small skeleton who wore blue; the tall skeleton who wore funny clothes with a torn up cape; the blue fish woman that had tried to spear you; the goat couple who obsessively loved you and then tried to pry out your heart. You made it all up as a way to cope with the trauma. Your parents hired Dr. Fox as a clinical psychologist to help you. Dr. Fox had tried every technique in the book to try to get you to speak about the awful repressed memories you had, even trying hypnotism. But that had no results; all you spoke about were the characters from your nightmares.

Eventually, the memories of the monsters and kidnappers faded from your mind, though you still required therapy.


	2. Chapter 2

The world did not revolve around the sun as you laid in the flowerbed. Too much blood rushed to and from your face, turning your cheeks a rosy red to a sallow white. You gasped for air. You wheezed, too shallowly for a full breath, your hands shook, your head felt too light. You heaved yourself from your back to your side, collapsing your frame into a tiny ball. A part of you said that you were hallucinating, and that you would wake to find yourself at the kitchen table, watching your mother fix supper. The other, stronger part of you said that

You

Were

Dead.

And on your way to meeting you know who.

Time passed. Your lungs started to inflate better. Your tremors slowed to twitches. You could think again. You didn’t cry. You’d grown weary of crying years ago… But your damp eyes assured you that you were not alright.

You pushed yourself up onto your knees, and turned your face to the sky. Bright blue was still above you. You were not in Hell. You took a breath, and let the bottled up tension bleed out of your body. There was one thing that you knew.

You knew you could leave this place.

But you would be thrown into your own personal Hell when you did so.

But you stood up anyway, clutching your rolling stomach, and took a step forwards from the flowerbed. And another. And another. You leaned heavily on the wall as you walked, unsure of each step you took. And as you walked, you thought. You thought rationally about your situation; this was likely a test that either Dr. Fox or your parents set up to observe how well you preformed under stress… Or something. Some kind of extreme therapy. You snorted. Nothing ELSE had worked on you.

You rounded a corner into a small dark room. Something in the back of your mind twitched, but you smothered it with hopeful thoughts of home and the rum-filled chocolates your parents had bought you last night. You stumbled as you walked through the only source of light in the room, and your knees hit a patch of grass heavily. The thing in your mind twitched harder, but you shook your skull and stood back up, hobbling faster.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Obligatory short chapter. Sorry I haven't been updating this, I'll try to work on it more.

Gradually, the darkly coloured dirt turned into old, chipped purple stones beneath your feet. Each time a distant, unwanted memory flashed dully in your mind, you it pushed down, down farther. You walked slowly through the place, careful not to trip and fall, lest you injure yourself further. It took a great deal of walking to find a strange little sight: A cozy, tiny cottage with a dying tree in its yard.

_“Would you like some pie, my child?”_

With a groan of shock, your legs crumpled under you. “Shit,” you panted, already sweating cold bullets. You pressed your forehead against the aged, chipped stones, and took deep breaths. These invasive thoughts… You hadn’t had them in a very long time. You had forgotten what total shock was like. You grit your teeth and stood again, shambling to the tiny house.

Only way out was in, right?


	4. Chapter 4

The first thing you noticed was the scent of freshly baked pie.

You closed your eyes and inhaled the astonishing scent, however disturbed by its familiarity you were; your mother hardly ever baked, and when she did, she only ever made cakes. You did not know how you knew the smell. You did not want to know why.

You nearly stepped into the kitchen to see who was home.

But you stopped and clenched your eyes.

That was a crazy idea.

The house was small and well kept, nary a speck of dust nor a red leaf in sight, and you limped to the staircase smack in the middle of the room. Some part of you yearned to search the house, explore it as if you knew it. You stood in the entrance way a smidgen too long, as a strange thumping sound made its way to your ears.

You hurried down the steps without another glance back up, and missed a small moving flower just as it hopped into the room.

**…**

“MOM!”

Asriel’s scream sliced through the contented silence of his mother’s home, and startled the large goat woman bent over a well-used stove. Toriel rushed from the kitchen to her son, a terrible knot stuck in the bottom of her stomach. She found him bent over and sobbing, tears cascading over his face and watering the soil beneath him. “Asriel?” Toriel asked as she scooped him up in her hands and held him close to her bosom, “My child, what is wrong?” Asriel simply sobbed, nary a word escaping his lips as he violently trembled. For a few minutes, Toriel worried that her son was terribly ill, until he whispered something that nearly had her dropping him to the floor.

“I think I saw Frisk.”

**…**

The hallway was too long and your head hurt.

Somewhere along the way, you realized that the world was starting to blur and your thoughts were becoming increasingly muggy, with ancient memories resurfacing and interrupting your thought process.

You cursed.

Your leg was _killing_ you, everything _fucking_ hurt, and you were beginning to think that _maybe_ this wasn’t some kind of cruel therapy tactic made by your shitty therapist. You had walked so long now that your leg was beginning to feel numb, and you pondered the thought of the limb succumbing to shock. You had not taken your eyes from the stone path as you walked, and hardly even noticed a chill in the air. You only glanced up to articulate where you were, and stopped in your tracks.

A door.

_FIRE_

Your palms hit the stone doors so quickly an audible _slap_ echoed through the empty hallway.

_nononoNONONONONO!!!!!!_

You were going to DIE!

Your breathing sped up to the point where your lungs could not grasp a full breath, your head spun violently.

You pushed at the doors with all your might, tears streaming down your face and third person memories replaying over and over in your head.

Of the fire.

The flames scorching your skin.

_Of Tor-_

Grunts worked their way through your mouth as you tried to heave the doors open, whimpers when you remembered dastardly hellfire.

The doors inched open. Your eyes widened and you leaned all of your weight on the stone, pushing.

Pushing.

_Hyperventilating._

Pushing.

_Dying._

With a shrill yelp, the doors swung open and you fell forward, a near identical sound wrenching itself from your throat.

You fell face first into

_Snow._

The doors slammed shut behind you, and you lifted your shaking body. You looked forward.

_Snow._


	5. Chapter 5

The snow fell around you in thick sheets, thick enough to cover a fully grown man in a blink of an eye, much less a young woman. You scrambled to your feet, bare arms already beginning to freeze as well as your exposed, aching leg. The only remote pro to the startling change of environment was that you were too shocked to do anything but observe your surroundings.

 _‘Again?’_ You thought, as you slowly turned and stared at the… Well, the _everything_ around you. The frozen stone doors, the bush with a badly hidden camera, the trees on either side of the worn pathway.

You were in a sick sense of awe. You knew each and every branch that the trees had, knew how many leaves attempted to camouflage the camera’s lens;

Knew the pathway.

And the badly created “gate” at the very end of it.

“Oh,” you said,

And crashed to the frozen, snowy earth once more.

.

..

…

….

…..

……

…….

……..

Snow froze your lashes. Clogged your nose, wet your open mouth. Flakes skittered away from your breath, and did not melt as they should have. You were starting to slip into hypothermia.

‘ _Again?’_

You were tired. You closed your eyes and pondered your death. Would anybody find your body, frozen solid? Would your family ever know where you disappeared to? Memories of childhood trauma drifted back to you with a strange kind of wistfulness, a strange kind of longing.

_…child?_

_… sans. sans the skeleton._

_…MADLY IN LOVE WITH ME._

_…real, right?_

_… roleplaying as you!_

_…simple, happy ending…_

_…don’t you have anything better to do?_

You didn’t open your eyes for a long time.


	6. Chapter 6

You dreamt. Of old sounds, visions of bazaar creatures flashing in your dangerously cooled brain, you tasted too-sweet butterscotch and flaming hot cinnamon. Your chest felt funny, like it was hollow and cold. And through dazed eyes and muffled ears, you heard screams, and saw flashes of purple and shocking yellow. Drool dribbled from your open mouth as you were rolled over onto your back. You heard a horrified gasp and a chilled whimper, and

You fell back asleep.

҉҉҉

_I was scared of dentists and the dark._

Shuffle.

_This cowboy’s running from himself._

Tap tap tap tap taptaptaptaptap.

_And they come unstuck._

You were warm. It was dry. _‘Am I alive?’_ You asked yourself. _‘Check.’_ You thought as you realized that you were thinking. Waking up was like coming out of heavy anesthesia; your limbs were heavier than you had ever felt them to be, you couldn’t open your eyes, your head swam…

You rolled over on your side and felt something _very hot_ nestle next to your belly. You skin prickled and you snuggled into the warmth. You felt the hairs on your body stand on end in pleasure, and faintly heard somebody gasp. You rationalized this as your mother, who was now tucking another blanket around you and desperately petting your hair. ‘ _Ha,_ ’ you smugly thought as you were hugged tightly around your torso, over top the blankets, ‘ _That’ll teach_ HER _to try and scare the memories back into me!_ ’

You sighed in comfort and settled deeply into the plush surface you were laying on, feeling a fuzzy kiss being pressed to your forehead. Your father’s mustache tickled your brow and you gently chuckled, and he answered you with his own.

You were so, _so close_ to falling back asleep. But in a flash of horror and realization, you felt your entire body lock up and a cold flash of terror.

_Your father didn’t have a mustache._


	7. Chapter 7

You didn’t move for a very long time. You breathed slowly, in and out, pretending to be resting. Gentle voices wafted to your ears, deep and regal; then, low and high. Tough and stuttering. You were thankful you rolled over in your sleep, as your face was pushed into some cushions. Your eyes flicked back and forth, wide open and searching for some kind of detail of the day. Was it day? Night? Where were you?

You squeezed yourself even tighter in a ball, hopefully appearing unmoving by your… Captors. Saviours? A shiver ran down your spine.

You waited for hours. You waited until a kink developed in your spine, until your legs and feet were numb and stupid. You waited until you heard the final clink of an empty mug on a hard surface, and a tired sigh. The _creak_ of tiles was the only sound in the house, as the person made their way out of wherever they had been. Their footsteps came closer and closer to your head, and you instinctively tensed. A heartbeat passed, and you felt fingers smooth down your hair. The hand pulled away after gently brushing your cheek, and the person continued walking.

You waited until you heard a door close.

You jumped out of the couch (wait… How did you know it was a couch?) so quickly that you forgot that your legs were asleep, and crashed to the ground with a soul-numbing _bang._

You had only _just_ managed to drag yourself under the couch, before the sound of doors slamming open shattered the peaceful silence.

You covered your mouth to stop a scream in its tracks; countless feet hurried down some stairs and stopped in front of the couch.


	8. Chapter 8

Tears began to leak from your eyes. Huge, terrified ones that soaked your hair and slid down your cheeks. The people in the room weren’t speaking, and you knew that they _knew where you were, because they were just standing there and your foot was probably poking out from underneath the couch, and, and!_

You nearly shrieked as your phone went off across the room.

_Sorry I’m not made of sugar, and I’m not sweet enough for you_

_Is that why you always avoid me? I must be such an inconvenience to you!_

_Well, I’m just your problem!_

You shook like a leaf as somebody walked to wherever your phone was, and tapped it again and again, a dull clinking sound coming from your phone. It was as if the person’s finger was made from something solid.

The person sighed. “Sans, Frisk’s phone isn’t working again.” High, but unmistakably male.

Beneath the couch, you jumped in shock. Your eyes widened so much they hurt. Frisk was the nickname you’d assigned yourself as a child; how did they know? How did they know you? Why did they know you? ‘ _Oh my god,_ ’ you mentally sobbed, ‘ _Oh my god, I’m going to die here._ ’ You pressed your hand over your mouth harder, your hand turning the skin around your mouth white with pressure. ‘ _Mom, dad, I love you. I’ll see you in the next life.’_ For the first time in a long time, you really prayed; all the other voices in the room were drowned out by your prayers, and your muffled sobs. So much so, that you didn’t notice the _clink_ of clay against wood, nor the tapering off of conversation;

However, you tuned back in when you heard a child’s gasp.

You opened your eyes and found

A

Flower

Staring

At

You.

_I care about you more than anybody else._

 

Something in your mind cracked. You felt some part of you snap, something dark and ignored, something old and sad.

The scream you made shattered a glass. It made the flower cry.

It made each person jump back from the couch by a foot.

The flower’s tears seemed endless as he watched your sobbing face, fond memories of you as a child surfacing in his mind, and he used a vine to latch onto your foot and pull you out from your cover.

As you were uncovered, a collective gasp and a womanly sob echoes through the living room.

You stared directly upwards, your frayed mind beginning to _remember, really remember, did you want to remember?_

The ceiling was familiar.

The flower was familiar.

The couch… Was familiar.

And… You turned your head slightly to see the people standing in the living room, each of their faces contorted with a mixture of pain, shock, and unfathomable joy.

The people were familiar. No… _Monsters._

Every primal instinct you had flared at the sight of them.

_You were in hell._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, i hope you guys like this one, it was tough to write. Comments are always appreciated!


	9. Chapter 9

The sound coming from you was absolutely horrific; somewhere between a shriek and a wail, your face pale as bone. Your brain was trying to _disassociate, disassociate, disassociate,_ but the monsters stayed and you were _there_ and they _hurt_ you.

Right? Right? They hurt you?

But they looked so scared and sad. Did they hurt you?

Dr. Fox said they hurt you.

Mom and dad said they hurt you.

The news said they hurt you.

Why was the tall skeleton crying?

Why was the flower wailing?

The fish woman with spears looked scared.

You looked away again, the scream dying in your throat. Shell shocked; your parents called you shell shocked when they found you; shell shocked was what WW1 officers were called, because they couldn’t talk or eat or sleep or move, annnnd

The goat, the goat, the lady in purple, his mom, your mom, her teeth are long

She was walking towards your body

She was a goat, like Baphomet, is she Baphomet? But, what about the other goat, the bigger one with the yellow beard? He smelled like flowers, like old flowers pressed in a book that were long dead

The skeleton, the tall one, the happy one, his gloves were red, red and red like his scarf, and his brother was blue like veins, like like,

You head turned to look at the smaller skeleton, his face devoid of a grin.

Like his eye?

Like Sans’ eye.

_Sans._

Your right arm moved to your pocket, the texture of your clothing too intense, your hand gripped your pocket knife.

Your knife, your knife your dead uncle gave you after you surfaced.

_You hated, hated, hated knives but they kept everyone safe._

You pulled your knife from your pocket and flicked it open, cold steel, old and dull, but it would work.

It would work.

Faster, faster than ever you moved, you sat up and hacked at the vine around your foot; the flower wailed louder and the vine retreated, and then you stood up,

Up, up, looked at the monsters, the killers, the kidnappers,

And ran from them, opening the front door and ran, into the snow and into the forest.

_You had always wondered about the forest._


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please read while listening to this:  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vKH-rcO6PA8&index=3&list=PLqebqD9PXbNq3kdnizfXbw7FU4mSZaVJn

You remembered the first time you started talking about your kidnapping, and your friend asked you “if you were still on about that?” Your mouth slammed shut like a trap, and you never brought it up with them again. You never talked about it with _anybody_ again, in fact; nobody but Dr. Fox. You had given up on the possibility that anybody would actually care about what you went through. It didn’t concern them, so it didn’t matter. It wasn’t like anybody cared. It wasn’t as if anybody asked. Thus, you developed a sort of detachment from the people around you… Clamming up when somebody _did_ ask about the most traumatic experience of your life. Not even your parents talked about it. When you got the courage (or drunk enough) to tell a new friend about what you went through, it was as if you hadn’t even spoken. Your words passed through them like gas, and they brought up something about themselves. Always themselves. They could pretend they cared, but they didn’t. They _never_ cared.

 _‘Maybe,’_ some rational part of you thought, _‘maybe that’s why I let myself fall.’_

The cold stung you as you ran. And you ran, so fast, so heartbroken. You sprinted away from the Skeleton Brothers’ cozy, warm home, as if you were being chase by demons. And, for all you really knew, perhaps you were.

You were still crying.

Soon, no footsteps echoed in the frozen forest, and you collapsed in the snow. Your tears froze on your cheeks, and you found no will in yourself to wipe them away. _‘Fine, I’ll die. This is what I wanted, anyway,’_ you thought, as your only recently warmed body rapidly cooled. So you laid there, unmoving. Maybe this was best. Maybe this would be easier.

You curled up. Didn’t try to get up, or run; just stayed.

_Put me in the dirt, let me dream with the stars._


	11. Chapter 11

You hated the snow, and hated the cold. You hated your parents and your shitty therapist, your friends, your home, your kidnappers; hated, hated everything. The flesh of your face was so numb, you could have poked it with a needle and would have felt nothing at all. You slid your arm forward to look at your fingertips, and saw that your nails had turned an ugly blue... Cold blue.

Death blue.

"Fuck you," you hissed through frozen lips as you stared at your hand, "fuck you, fuck everything, fuck you for not helping me, fuck you for taking me, and fuck YOU," you raised your eyes to the dark ceiling of the mountain, "for letting all this happen."

The air was still, and you half wondered if any little monster had heard you. Your felt your body heat up with pure rage and frustration, felt as if a hot liquid was pouring into your torso;

Felt the urge to hurt something.

The delicate snow melted around your cheeks as your face warmed in anger. Slowly, you pushed yourself to your knees and glared at the ground. You were so mad, so mad at the world; perhaps because you were never able to vent your frustration ever before.

Something deep inside of you whispered to let the little freaks of nature, dwelling deep in the underground, feel your wrath.

Instead, you swallowed your dry mouth and closed your eyes.

"F-F-F-Fris-s-s-k?"

With a yelp, you scrambled forwards, a jittery voice at your back. As you jumped forward, you threw your body to the side to see who (WHAT) was speaking to you.

It took you a few moments to realize what it was.

A small dinosaur in spectacles with buck teeth stared at you, a few feet away. It was shivering violently, wrapped in a huge coat. It's clawed feet were bare, and the scales looked dangerously blue.

You stared at it. It stared back.

You stood in one fluid motion, put one frozen foot down in the snow, and crumpled like a piece of paper.

"Frisk!" Cried the monster as it shuffled towards you, fear evident on it's finely-scaled face. You began to wail as you desperately attempted to crawl away from it, hands beginning to turn into an even worse blue. The sounds that tore from your throat made the dinosaur's face turn a sickly green hue. "F-Frisk," it whispered, it's voice booming in the cryptic silence, "don't you remember m-me?"

Don't you remember?

You glanced back for a moment, just a moment, and could ascertain that YES, you did know it.

It.

Her.

You knew her face. Not her name.

She gazed at you across the snow, making no more move towards you, lest you drag yourself away again. You were transfixed on her eyes, dark pupils focused and cunning, searching out every uncovered piece of skin and assessing the damage.

Alphys.

"Alphie," you sobbed, face turning into a gruesome white. Her eyes snapped back to yours, and she smiled hesitantly. She was still scared, yes, but seemed relieved. "Y-yes!" Alphys gasped, waddling towards you again. "Yes, I'm Alphys! Y-you remember me?"

You wailed again as she neared, and she stopped cold in her tracks. You could see the gears turning in her head, and she quickly pulled out a phone. Faster than you thought she could, she texted somebody and slipped her phone back into the coat pocket. "It's okay, Frisk," Alphys said, her hands raised in front of her as if they were a shield. Tears (stupid, stupid tears) slid down your cheeks again, and you bit the inside of your cheek to quell your panic.

You knew who all was coming.

The pocketknife in your jeans seemed to warm, as if to remind you that it was still there, with you; your only friend in the world.

You closed your eyes.

You made a decision.

 


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING  
> without going into too much detail, there are knives, and bleeding, and death in this chapter.
> 
> read at your own risk.
> 
> Enjoy!

There wasn’t much about highschool biology that you could remember. Most of your teen days were filled with friends, and struggling to stay afloat in your hormone-charged life. However, the areas of veins stuck with you, strangely.

Alphys had backed off when she noticed the knife clutched in your hand, an expression of shock on her face. “F-F-F-Frisk?” She had asked, her stutter more pronounced than you had ever heard. Your eyes roamed her body, picking out the differences in her anatomy compared to your own. You focused on her neck, soft hide bunching up overtop the tight collar of her jacket.

With a look of finality, your pupils latched onto hers.

And slit your neck before she could blink.

Your eyes were wild as Alphys screamed, wretched and long. Her hands were pressed against her eyes, horror evident in her posture. You felt a sudden rush of guilt for her. The knife fell from your hand into melted, bloody snow. “I- I can’t go through it again, I’m sorry, I can’t!” you whispered, voice garbled as your throat filled with blood. You sobbed weakly.

Alphys stumbled back and fell ass-first into the snow, still covering her eyes. No doubt, blood was pouring from your throat in buckets, seeping into your clothes. You could feel the warmth of it sink into your sweater, and how wet it was against your skin.

You laid on your back, looking up at the ceiling of the great cave, the Underground.

Things were… Fuzzy.

You didn’t care about anything. You couldn’t feel the cold anymore, or hear Alphys’ screams.

You weren’t at peace, but… You didn’t care.

The dark was nicer than life, than love, than your parents and your friends.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It was better.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Your eyes closed.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Heat on your neck. Footsteps. Thoughts of sewing.

 

 

 

Warmth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i read somewhere that PTSD patients, at their worst, will kill themselves to make everything go away. I thought it fit.


	13. Chapter 13

As soon as your body felt warm again, you knew.

Knew that you had missed your jugular.

You opened your eyes to see Sans and Papyrus’ ceiling above you. “Frisk!” Cried a woman’s voice, and you turned your head to see whose it was. The fish woman stared at you with apprehension from the other side of the room, her back still slumped against a wall. She righted herself in a flash and walked over to you, leaning over your body. “Nerd! BFF! Are you okay?!” She admonished, and placed her hand on your forehead. Her yellow eye was wide, and her hair fell into her face, a shock of red on blue. You said nothing, your face devoid of emotion. She was visibly startled at your lack of reaction, and her face twisted into a pained grimace-smile. “Seriously, brat,” she said as she looked away, her smile drooping, “what were you thinking? You could have died!”

Died. Died?

“Well, yeah,” you said, your voice scratchy and pained, “that was sort of the plan.” Undyne pulled her hand away in shock, and held it to her chest. The feminine action looked strange on her, so you turned your head away again to look at the ceiling. She was quiet for a few moments, and you presumed that she was deciding what to say next. “But why…?” She whispered, her voice low and anguished. You thought of old memories of tea and spears, of running and sharp scratches all over your body.

Why. Why? You were at a loss for words. How could you explain to this woman, this thing, this _monster,_ of the pain that you had? Years of hate. Lies. Hell, you were still half-convinced you were having a psychotic episode, and were strapped to a bed in a psych ward. You latched onto that thought. That _hope._ “It doesn’t matter,” you said slowly, “in a while, I’ll wake up in some bed somewhere, with my neck cut open and my parents sobbing. You aren’t real,” you said with finality, and turned your head to look at her again.

Her eye was filled with tears.

She stared at you for a moment, just one moment, and then stomped out of the living room, out of your sight.

You heard a door open and slam, and you were alone.

You looked up at the ceiling again.

And stared.


	14. Chapter 14

You awoke.

When had you fallen asleep? You didn't know. Your eyes felt crusty when you opened them, your mouth dusty and bitter; you had been resting for some time, then.

Resting. What a strange word; indeed, you felt rested. But not at ease. You brought up a hand to rub at your neck, and found it significantly less painful.

The goat had seen to you, then. Perhaps both of them. Unconsciously, you tugged on some hair, and hoped you were wrong. Lost in thought, you ignored the light which shone through windows above you. Yes, you had slept through the last day, and had lived to see the next.

You muttered a swear. And Undyne? She had fled, in the wake of unwanted answers, you recalled. Sighing, you stretched, and felt some bones crack in your knees. You stilled, though, when you felt some other kind of cracking, or tapping, from the kitchen.

You turned your head in that direction, morbidly intrigued. What other events did this house of horrors have in store for you?

You slid off the couch with nary a squeak of a rusty spring, and slowly padded to the kitchen. You grasped the corner of the wall, peeked in, and...

You didn't remember a kitchen table. You also didn't recall Sans doing crossword puzzles, with a frown.

You were unaware know Sans even could frown. As a child, you fuzzily remembered thinking that his face was stuck like that. Like how your mother used to tell you that of you made a funny face too long, it would stay like that. But there Sans was, head propped up on a fist, eyes staring down at a crossword puzzle.

You focused on his eye sockets, and a jolt of nostalgia hit you;

The bone directly underneath was soft and slightly bruised.

Just like skin.

"Didn't think you were like me," you croaked from your spying spot, voice coarse and quiet. A snap echoed in the kitchen, as Sans looked up. He had broken the pencil in two.

He said nothing, however, just stared at you. Blank, but surprised; not even happy. The frown he wore was still in place, and you smiled at the sight. "Didn't think you were capable of frowning," you said as you stated right back at him, "didn't think you were like people. Are you like me?" You asked, eyes unfocused. Sans stood up from the table, with a screech from the chair he was sitting on. Still he said nothing, though he looked worried.

"Blue," you mumbled, and walked into the kitchen proper, just short of the table. You wobbled a bit. "Blue eyes, blue smile, and veins, too, Sans. There's a lot that's jumbled, up here in my head," you tapped the side of your skull, "and I don't know if I want it unwoven. There were too many kids, and they died, or were killed; I remember their blood, and their toys. But their blood was green, or orange, or purple." Sans looked uneasy, as he listened to you speak in riddles. His hand was beginning to raise, as if trying to say, 'stop, stop, I understand, why?' But you kept talking, mind fraying.

"The monster was vines," you recalled, "vines and fire and _so many bugs_. I watched the monster take the kids, take them and eat them, but they broke out of its belly and helped me leave." You wrung your hands together, and Sans' eyes glanced to them. He was a skeleton, why did he look so...?

"Kiddo," he said,

 

And his

 

Voice was

 

Deep, like the old days.

 

"Deep like the old days," you echoed.

 

Something dripped onto your lips,

 

And it was red, red, red.

 

 


	15. Chapter 15

Sans was dependable. Honest, and sturdy; as a child, you saw him nearly on par with your father, or an older brother... Strange, then, that you suddenly felt such a distance between the two of you. Or, was it more natural, that the both of you had grown apart? It had been more than a decade, after all. As you stood in his kitchen, bleeding from your nose, hearing the nearly inaudible _splat_ of your blood hit the pristine kitchen floor, you smiled. Blood trickled down your lip, a stain. "Sans," you said kindly as you watched him, watched his eye sockets widen in morbid fascination, "you look tired."

And he did. He looked infinitely more tired than he did when you were young.

It was so strange, seeing this thing, this skeleton in front of you again; you had dreamed of him often, throughout the years, but his appearance had been blurred by time. Now that you saw him again, it was oddly refreshing.

Sans lowered his hand, his posture like a scared, cornered animal. "Kid," he said, his voice like an earthquake, "Frisk, are you okay?" The pitch of his voice was like a bell. Memories rushed back to you, after you escaped the underground. You opened your mouth to speak.

"We went to the beach," you murmured, walking slowly to the table, and placed your hand on the old wood. "We went to the beach a week after I left, and I kept asking if I could bring my friends."

Sans looked uncertain, but slightly more relaxed. Still frowning, he pulled the seat back and sat back down, elbows perched on the table. You kept talking.

"They asked if I meant Jesse, or Hannah from my class. I said no, the tall ones. My _friends._ "

"You meant us," he said, his frown growing. You lowered your head.

"The therapy started," you continued, and traced a crack in the table. "I went to Dr. Fox. My parents said he would help. He might have. But I don't know. I know that some things are wrong, now... I know which memories are corrupted, but can't remember what they were like originally. I don't like snails," you said suddenly, "They don't take directions very well."

Sans chuckled weakly and raised a hand to rub his forehead. The scrape of bone on bone grated on your ears. You kept tracing that crack in the wood of the table. You heard him sigh. "Everybody is coming back soon," he muttered, and you raised your eyes to stare at him, "you should eat something."

_Human food._

"Human food." You said, and watched Sans shake his head. 

"You know we don't have any of that, pal."

"Then I don't want to eat."

"Come on, don't be difficult."

"Fuck you," you said, and Sans looked aghast.

You smirked.

 


	16. Chapter 16

Sans was right. It hadn't taken long until you heard the knob to the front door squeak, and felt a rush of freezing air. There was a little conversation; about you, you noted, as people stepped through the doorway. Idle, thoughtless conversation about your well being. Feet clamored into the house, quickly and without ceremony. Boots stamped, you heard coats being unzipped, and then-

What you were waiting for...

A _gasp_ of horror, and you just, just, just wanted to...

_Grasp the cup across the table and throw it at them, hear the glass shatter on one of their skulls, laugh at their screams of horror and pain, because how DARE they-!_

_How DARE they exist when you were told-!?_

When you were told otherwise?

"Frisk-" A voice began, paternal and kind, and the voice made you think of butterflies and flowers, a warm robe and Poseidon's blood, and a crown made of dark, shiny lead. Other voices shushed him when one of your fists tightened, and your teeth clicked together in a scowl.

_Frisk, Frisk, Frisk,_

Failure, Freak,  

_Fucking Famous brat that Fell and crawled out of the mountain **alive-**_

You spun around, blood raging in your veins, ready to face the _bastards_ who _ruined you, and_

They were smaller than you remembered. They were vivid.  _Real._

Every nerve on your body felt sensitive, you were clenching your teeth too hard, your fists were losing circulation, your vision was tinged red, _and_

"That ISN'T my FUCKING NAME!" You screeched, causing Toriel's hand to fly to her mouth and gasp. Similarly, Alphys flinched back, hiding behind Undyne. Neither Papyrus nor Asgore so much as twitched at your outburst, to their credit. 

You knew you looked psychotic. Your clothes were still bloody, as was your nose and lips, facial expression tortured and murderous. You felt helpless.

Helpless, and confused, and anything but certain, because _why_ would everybody _lie_ to you?

You brought two pale hands to your eyes and pushed, cutting off your vision. "Why?" You asked, dizzied. "They said that I was _sick-_ They made me take drugs and _I couldn't sleep,_ took me to a quack _who has no idea what he's doing,_ picked my brain and replaced the parts, ate me up inside, **_because of you?!"_ ** You tore your hands away from your eyes and pointed to the group of monsters huddled in the doorway, impossible and ancient.

And then, all at once, things began to happen.

Papyrus started to cry. Great, orange, magical tears that looked like the marmalade your mother used to spread onto your toast.

Undyne formed a spear, her eye impossibly large, and took form for a great throw.

Toriel grasped the spear, which dissolved.

Alphys cowered.

Asgore shut his eyes.

You cried.

 

 

 

 


	17. Chapter 17

You cried and cried, huge, sloppy tears running down your cheeks and staining your shirt. You cried like a little, lost child searching for their parents; snot ran down your nose in buckets. You looked perfectly pathetic. You began to shiver, then tremble, and felt tiny.  _Cry me a river,_ echoed somewhere in your head, and you hiccuped. "T-t-they-" You gasped, pressing your fists to your eyes like a toddler to wipe your tears, "They said that I was si-si-siiiiick!" You stuttered, lowering your head and letting gravity pull the tears from your eyes. Then, all at once, you crumpled in on yourself. 

 

Your knees buckled and and hit the floor with a resigned  _thump._ You heard Papyrus and Alphys gasp, and footsteps hurried over to you. 

You felt a hand on your shoulder, and you looked up. 

_Papyrus._

~~Toast in the morning, spaghetti in the afternoon, funny shirts and sharpie words.~~

~~~~You bit your lip, and took his hand. His grip was strong and dry, and you felt the past sneaking up on you; his hand hadn't changed. Not for over a decade.

And he was  _so tall._  

"Frisk," he began, his finger bones gently cradling your hand like a morbid cage, "what is your name?"

Your name?

Oh, it- 


	18. Chapter 18

Wait. Why did they have the right to know?

Wait. They had the right to know, didn't they?

Isolated... You felt isolated suddenly, trapped in a room full of otherworldly freaks.

You bit your tongue. And shut your eyes.

"Frisk?" Sans whispered behind you, and you felt another bony hand resting on your other shoulder. You turned your head to look at him, opening your eyes, with blood flaking off of your upper lip and fluttering to the ground.

The rest of the room held their breath, worried, or possibly scared for you. Or scared of your reaction. But they kept _calling you Frisk!_ Your parents had stopped calling you that after you crawled out of the mountain with bloody knees. Your eyes flicked to Asgore, his great bulk filling the small living room. ' _King under the mountain,_ ', you thought, and glanced at his crown. It barely fit between his horns; rather ridiculous for a 9 foot tall monster. When you noticed his smile, you bit your tongue again and looked away.

Papyrus squeezed your hand in his encouragingly. You didn't have to look at him to know that he was smiling gently.

You remembered his smiles.

They helped you sleep at night, after nightmares.

"(Y/N)", you muttered, looking down.

"Ah, what a lovely name," Papyrus said, and tugged you towards himself for a hug. His voice held a smile.

You didn't quite know where to lay your arms, so you settled for his shoulder blades.


	19. Chapter 19

They had rustled you up a fucking _Crunchy bar,_ from who _knows_ where. A totally untouched bar, too, completely undisturbed. It wasn't even expired.

You sat on the brothers' couch and devoured it.

All things considered, the monsters were being frighteningly kind to you. You had screamed at them, scared them, cut your neck at them, and blamed them for your problems; and they still gave you a candy bar and patched you up.

Suffice to say, as you watched Toriel and Asgore chat, with Asriel sitting in his pot on his mother's lap, you felt like a real brat. 

You clutched your shirt in both hands and stood up, gathering the attention of every other person in the room. "I'm sorry," You said, your eyes downcast. You twirled your shirt around your right index finger, ashamed of your behavior. "I'm sorry for scaring you, and yelling at you. I'm sorry for making you feel bad," you whispered, still refusing to look up from your feet. Your eyes shut as heavy footfalls came towards you, heavy enough to nearly shake the house. A heavy hand gently brushed the top of your hair, and you felt as in an anvil were being held above your head. "It is alright, child," you heard, and finally looked up. Asgore stood in front of you, a kind smile upon his sharp muzzle.

But,

A scene of his paw doused in red, dripping red, arrived in your mind, and it was bleeding into your clothes and it was so warm, but he wasn't red anymore,

But he tried to _kill you,_

You stepped back, removing his gentle touch from your head. You were sweating cold bullets, beginning to hyperventilate. "I'm sorry!" You said as tears brightened your eyes, "I'm sorry."

You pressed fists against your eyes and gave a shuttering breath. "I think I should tell you the truth of what they said," You whispered, and backed up to sit down on the couch again.

 

 


	20. Chapter 20

Sans had handed you a glass of sweet smelling liquid. You had taken a gulp without asking what it was, and quickly after, found yourself highly inebriated.

"Monster booze," he said, and nestled into the couch beside you as you began your story. Papyrus took Sans' lead and sat on your opposite side, while Undyne, along with the rest of the monsters sat on the floor. You tapped your glass with your fingertips, unsure of where to start. Every pair of eyes was on you as you deliberated, watching silently.

You sighed, and began.

"It began when I came out. I remember that there was a huge cliff, a drop off with a view of the sunset. It's blurry, but I remember running down too fast, slipping, tearing my knees and splitting my lip on a log. It was a few hours until I made it to the base, and by then, I was seriously hurt; I had scratches and bruises all over my knees and arms, covered in mosquito bites, and was bleeding from my lip. They had posted cops all along the base of the mountain, just in case anybody found me or I somehow came back by myself. It was dark, and I was scared that I was lost. I knew that I must have been near my town, because I could see lights in the distance, but they were far away, and scared because my parents would be mad that I had left. I remember looking down and seeing my shoes all scuffed up, and that's when a light shone on me. I looked up, and a big man with a hat was running towards me.

He was a police officer, because he wore a police officer's hat that had a badge on it. The next thing I remember, he was carrying me and holding onto a stick I had picked up along the way. There was a big commotion and then my parents were hugging me and crying." You took another drought from your drink before you continued.

"After that, I was taken to the police station, I think. All I remember, is..." You glanced at Toriel, feeling guilty. "I was playing with toys and explaining what had happened. I told a lady with red lips about all of you. She kept smiling, and kept letting me talk, but looking back, she seemed a bit disturbed. After that, I was the talk of the town. I was the only kid to come back from the mountain in the last two hundred years. I was interviewed, and put into therapy. Somehow, people had come up with the story that I was kidnapped, and witnessed the brutal murders of seven other children. That I had made up these "characters" as a way of coping. My therapist reinforced these theories, until I believed... Until I thought they were true, too."

You looked down from the group, embarrassed and ashamed. You didn't dare look at Toriel, or Asriel. You had left out some details, like the nightmares and extensive drugs to spare them.

Your eyes stung.

 


	21. Chapter 21

Silenced reigned in the living room for a full ten minutes, each other person in the room digesting all of the information you had just thrown at them. Your eyebrows knotted together as you thought of your shame; you should not have told them about what had happened to you. It would only serve to flare up old guilt that most of them were sure to have. The world outside of the house was pitch black, save for glowing Christmas lights sending flashes of colour scattering over the snow. It was strange to look outside, to look up, and to not see the stars, or moon. You looked away from the window. From across the room, you heard a sigh, and cracking of bones, Undyne had stood up, a troubled expression contorting the fine scales of her face. Her hands were clenched tightly, but steady as she walked over to you. A pang of fear made you set down the coffee cup, stand up and nearly take a step back from her domineering form. But before you could even get your foot to twitch, she hugged you. You jumped as you felt her arms coil around you, firm and tough as anaconda snakes. But she smelled like sea air and sweet shampoo, of grilled fish and electricity, and you found it in yourself to hug her back.

 

Because you would always hug her back, hug all of them back, because you were fond of them. Your destroyed, contorted family.


	22. Chapter 22

It took a few hours for most people to shuffle out of the house. Undyne left with Alphys, then Toriel, then Asgore. Asriel had asked to stay with you for the night, and while you were cautious, you agreed. Cause hey, he was still just a kid. And, to be blunt, you were probably still his best friend. So Papyrus had found a spare blanket underneath the sink, a spare pillow from his own room, and footsie slippers.

You rejected those politely.

Tired from the day, and your neck still throbbing slightly, you laid your head to the pillow. The couch was more comfortable than it looked, and your spine settled with only a little bit of pain. The house was quiet, no sound to be heard. It was slightly unnerving, not hearing any sounds of life; no breathing, or yawning, or snoring. You glanced to your left to see Asriel staring at you. "What?" You said, flushing, embarrassed at getting caught. The child said nothing, but, as if testing the waters, grew a vine. A long vine, you noticed, that was inching towards your nose. "Uh," you muttered, confused towards his plan. The vine inched closer and closer to your face, and just as you were about to speak up again, it touched the very top of your nose.

Asriel's face brightened. "You're really her, huh?" He asked, his two canine teeth glinting in the dark. 

"Well, yeah," You said,

"But your hair is different and you're bigger," he said,

"That's called  _growing up,_ Asriel," you replied with a chuckle.

"Oh," he muttered, "I've never done that."

It was quiet again. 


End file.
